Whether their misleading title (Bach would not have given the English a thought during their conception) or the unusual gravitas of sentiment has contributed to a comparatively enigmatic status of the English Suites is hard to know. There are gems aplenty among these pieces, however, which convey a portentously contrapuntal energy alongside the more mercurial qualities of the French clavecinistes tradition. After all, these are works written possibly as early as 1714 when Bach was priming his concerto techniques alongside the established dance of his forebears. It is not an easy cocktail to handle, especially as there rarely seems to be a clear line between the private and the public Bach. Which is a demonstrative concert piece and which is an internalised musing?

The readings of Danish pianist Sverre Larsen reflect something of this oft-noticed dilemma but compared to most of the competition, his approach is mainly at ease with itself. He splits the works evenly between a Steinway Model D and a Bösendorfer (the latter is marginally preferable) and delivers refreshingly unmannered and genial performances. A highly accomplished pianist, his instincts are more governed by sensible choices than necessarily poetic or illuminating ones, as we hear in the wise juxtapositions of tempi in the G minor Suite. Yet, the longer preludes often lose a degree of sustained interest, not on account of his unremitting rhythmic control but because undefined melodic contours (too much similar articulation) and unexplored textures leave the music under-nourished.

The uneven competition means that Larsen must still be regarded as a serious contender. While he may not boast the sheer dramatic flair of Martha Argerich’s mood swings and ravenous bite in the Prelude of the A minor Suite (DG, A/00), he senses the quizzical nature of the succeeding ‘Allemande’, and there are many big-hearted and spontaneous movements where the G and E minor Suites come off especially well. Glenn Gould, of course, has his inimitable say and there are, intermittently, some characterful glories (such as the Prelude to the Suite in F major and the heart-rending Sarabandes throughout) but he is also quite impossible in the way nonchalance and eccentricity pad out too much of the rest. The recorded sound is also hard-edged and tiring on the ear. >BR>
András Schiff represents the main benchmark, consistent and pragmatically cultivated throughout, although his 1987 set moves more by layered observations than sinuous engagement. Most recently, Murray Perahia’s thoughtful accounts have given the Suites a richer dimension and yet he is the most guilty, perhaps, of missing the simple ebullience and unquestioning variety here: too much structure and not enough expressive incandescence. He lurches into grand Busoni-esque gestures but often incoherently within the overall palette.

So, if not a straightforward recommendation, Larson’s benevolent disposition and clarity of intent fills a gap. The playing will not set the world alight, or refine our view of the poetic nature of some movements, but this is Bach with a smile. The production – in all senses – is rough and ready, the booklet rough and unready.